


Lions may growl, but wolves howl, My Lord.

by ImpulsiveWeeb



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, game of thrones
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Daenerys Isn’t Evil, F/M, Not Happy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sansa Isn’t Evil Either, Tyrion Still Loves Sansa, Tyrion needs a hug tbh, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 00:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpulsiveWeeb/pseuds/ImpulsiveWeeb
Summary: Sansa smiles at him, but it was nothing like the soft smiles she once graced him with in King’s Landing. Her smile now resembled something much more similar to a snarl.Just like a wolf’s snarl.





	Lions may growl, but wolves howl, My Lord.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically my exhausted brain asked; “What if we actually got a good angst filled Tyrion and Sansa reunion?” So here we are!  
> Btw, nether Sansa nor Dany are ‘bad’ here! I love both characters - Sansa more because she’s my favorite - but both of them have flaws! Flaws don’t make someone a bad person!!

Assuming that Sansa Stark would accept Daenerys Targaryen after all she has been through was shortsighted on Tyrion’s part. He can accept that, he has little to no pride left after all he’s endured.

 However, what Tyrion cannot accept is the disappointment in Sansa’s icy blue eyes. 

He often tries to talk to her, but she regularly brushes him off. He understands why, as Lady of Winterfell she’s a busy woman who has no time for her foolish, dwarf husband - former husband - but he can’t help but feel slighted. She has time for the pettiest of Lords, the dirtiest of the common folk but whenever it comes to the Hand of the Queen she’s constantly absent. 

“Tyrion,” Daenerys’ voice snaps him from his thoughts. She looks concerned for him, a hand resting upon his shoulder. “Is everything ok?” 

 _If only the Northerners could see this side of her,_ Tyrion muses to himself, _maybe they’d like her more._

“Sorry for worrying you, Your Grace. I’m quite alright.” 

“I’m glad. I cannot go without a Hand.” 

Though she is not joking - Daenerys is many things, but funny isn’t one of these things - Tyrion cannot help but smile. He would laugh, but his silver haired Queen would not see the humor he sees.

_She most definitely could do without me, I know many men who would fall at her feet to become her Hand._

“I have a request for you,” She continues, taking his silence as a prompt to speak further. “But I will not force you to do it.”

This peeks Tryion’s curiosity. ”I’m sure that whatever it is, I will be happy to do it.” 

Daenerys gives him a soft smile, the one that if she had given to the Northerners, it’d melt the ice in their hearts. Maybe. 

“I understand that the Lady of Winterfell and I have some...” She pauses, searching for the correct word. “..tension. As she is not only the most powerful woman in the North but Jon’s sister, I wish for a better relationship with her. If she accepts me, I’m sure the North will as well.” 

Tyrion can’t help but nod in agreement. “And most likely the Vale, considering her influence over Robert Arryn.” 

_And mayhaps even the Riverlands, considering her Tully blood._

He does not say this. He doesn’t want Daenerys to feel even more insecure than she already does.

“This is where my request comes in. You and her, were married once. If anyone can talk to her it’d surely be her husband.” Daenerys has a gentle look in her eyes as she speaks, but Tyrion cannot help but think she’s thinking of her current lover and marrying him. 

“Your Grace, I don’t think Sansa would appreciate the Lannister my father forced her to marry talking to her about anything.” He doesn’t add in that Sansa has been avoiding him like wildfire. He loves his Queen dearly, but knows she would not be so understanding to Sansa.

”I do not think she would appreciate the Targaryen Queen either.” Daenerys replies dryly. Tyrion is sympathetic. He knows how much Daenerys is struggling with her less than warm reception from the North. 

“I’ll talk to her, Your Grace,” Tyrion says as he stands up. “Is there anything else?”

”No, that’ll be all. Thank you for this, Tyrion.” 

He bows to her, awkward and most certainly not correctly, but the Queen has no issue with his improper bow. 

___________________________

The Lady of Winterfell works until late into the night. Everyone in Winterfell, including Tyrion Lannister, knows this. It is not that late when he finds himself standing outside her door, but he hesitates. He needs to do this, for his Queen, but he still struggles.

Eventually, he finds the strength to knock on her thick door.

”Come in.” A cool voice says. 

Tyrion enters, waddling towards her - in his opinion - needlessly large desk. She sits behind this desk, writing something down. She barely spares him a glance, too focused on her work. Not wanting to be ignored, Tyrion loudly drags a chair to in-front of her desk. He sits down with a loud sigh. She still ignores him.

It reminds him of how his Father made him feel. He tries to push that thought out of his mind, but it still lingers.

”Sansa,” He begins, speaking gently as if he were afraid of startling her. “I’ve come to talk with you.” 

“Then speak.” Her voice is as soft as ever, but it lacks the warmth that Daenerys’ similarly soft voice has. 

“I’ve noticed you’ve taken issue with our Queen.”

”Have you?” She answers, sounding disinterested like he’s telling her about the weather. He doesn’t appreciate her flippant tone. 

“This isn’t something to be taken lightly, Sansa. Whether you like it or not, Jon bent the knee. You cannot act like a petulant child.” He cannot help but sound annoyed. Sansa knows all about the whims of Queens thanks to his sweet sister, yet she still tests Daenerys.

This catches her attention, but not in the way he would’ve wished. Her eyes focus on in him, and suddenly he’s remembering the tales of the fate of Ramsay Bolton. 

_Men said Sansa Stark fed him to his hounds and watched. Did Ramsay see that look in her eyes before he died?_

She stands up from her desk, and turns from him. She looks out her window for a few seconds before speaking again.

”Do you remember my brother, Robb?” 

“Of course I do.”

”And my mother?” 

“She’s hard to forget.” 

“Do you remember the Red Wedding?”

”I think everyone in the Realm remembers it.”

“My brother, my mother and many others died for Northern Independence. I suffered for it. My bannermen suffered for it.”

She turns on him, her eyes not quite looking at him.

”How many lost brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, fathers and mothers at that Wedding?” 

“I’ve no idea.” He really doesn’t. He doesn’t even know what to say to her. 

“Too many. The North has lost too much to ever kneel again. Jon may not see that, but I do. I see it everyday.” 

“Daenerys is not her father, nor is she mine. She’s no Joffrey, no Walder Frey. She’s kind. Why do you think they call her the Breaker of Chains? She has no desire to be a tyrant. She wants to bring peace and prosperity to Westeros.”

”The Breaker of Chains,” Sansa repeats, as if tasting his words. “She’ll have to remove that title. She’s chaining the North all over again. Perhaps ‘The Creator of Chains’ would be more accurate?” 

Tyrion stands up and moves in front of her. 

“You will not speak that way of her. She’s not the monster you make her out to be. All she wants is your respect, Sansa. Can’t you give her that?” By the time he’s finished, he’s growling the words out. Very few people can get under his skin but Sansa Stark seems to be one of those people. 

Sansa smiles at him, but it was nothing like the soft smiles she once graced him with in King’s Landing. Her smile now resembled something much more similar to a snarl.

Just like a wolf’s snarl.

“No, I cannot. You’ll have to kill me first.” 

Where was the kind hearted woman he once knew? Where was the girl who loved songs and stories? Where was the young woman who sang to him when the pains caused by the Battle of the Blackwater got too much? 

Where was his wife? 

“Sansa... You.. you can’t possibly mean that.” He manages to get out. 

“I’m not like you, my Lord. I feel no need to mince my words nor do I feel the need to bend to your will. I am a Stark of Winterfell and this is my home. You cannot frighten me.” 

 _Ice_ , he thinks, _she’s like ice. If Dany is passionate like fire, she’s strong like ice._

“It’s getting quite late my Lord. Don’t you have... other arrangements to tend to?” The way she pursues her lips and looks down at him, he knows she thinks he’s about to saunter off to a brothel.

”No. I haven’t had “other arrangements” since you left me.” He answers, his voice sounding bitter even to his ears.

Sansa softens at that, if only for a moment. She sighs, before turning her back on him again. 

“I think you should leave, anyway.” 

“Perhaps I should.”

As he waddles to her door, considerably slower than usual, he waits for her. He waits for her to call out to him, to come up from behind and hug him, to whisper in his ear and that she missed him, to at least stop him from leaving. But he reaches her doorknob and she’s silent. He leaves her chambers, not daring to look back in fear of breaking down in front of her.

He walks aimlessly, reaching his chambers beside Daenerys’. He can hear laughter from within, the faint sounds of a man and a woman enjoying each other’s company.

He enters his chambers, his small and cold chambers. He finds himself lacking in energy to even make it to the bed, so he slides down the door until he hits the ground rather abruptly.

And then, he begins to weep. Softly at first, before the sobs wrack his body and the sounds fill the tiny chambers with the desperate gasps and whimpers of a broken man.

 


End file.
